This month, when Downton Abbey purrs, Rolls Royce–like, into its fifth season, I’ll be among the 10 million people who loyally tune in for the premiere; but I doubt I’ll stick around much longer. I rarely do. The luxe British import is just the latest in a string of once-beloved disappointments that have made me start to wonder, in this much-touted New Golden Age of television drama, whether the genre itself has feet of clay.
Like so many others, I immediately got wrapped up in the saga of the Crawley family, inhabitants of the titular estate, when Downton first aired…
